


born to be beautiful

by Sage (the_ruined_earth_sagelord)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (he's just working it for the night lol), Alcohol, Bartender Victor Nikiforov, Canon Compliant, Clubbing, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Pole Dancing, Stripper Katsuki Yuuri, Stripping, THERES A TAG FOR HIM OMG, no sexual content it's pure fluff, pole dancer katsuki yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 09:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ruined_earth_sagelord/pseuds/Sage
Summary: "Katsuki Yuuri was a good person, he liked to think. A wholesome person, the kind of person you could take home to your mother, the kind of person you could take home to your father, the kind of person who definitely, absolutely, without any shadow of a doubt, did not deserve this."~Yuri doesn't meet Victor at the championship dinner, but at a club. There's still stripping. There's still a pole. But there's also a mechanical bull.





	born to be beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reallycorking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallycorking/gifts).



> This was a birthday gift for RC a while ago, and I realized that Yuri's birthday is actually coming up in a few days, so I'm posting this for that beautiful boy we all love and miss. This is also the only thing I've ever written for YOI even though I love the series so much, oops.

 

 

 

Katsuki Yuuri liked to think he was a good guy. He fed and walked his dog every day and made sure someone took care of it if he wasn’t there. He called his mother every night he was away at a competition. He watered his succulents, and each had its own name. He once picked up a tiny tot that was being bullied at a playground and rushed her to her mother at one of the benches on the fringes of the park. The mom gave Yuuri a peppermint, which he gratefully accepted and ate to the delight of the squealing, happy little girl he’d saved, and then suffered through his allergic reaction after rushing away so they wouldn’t see. At least the little girl had been smiling, and he’d appreciated that.

Katsuki Yuuri was a good person, he liked to think. A wholesome person, the kind of person you could take home to your mother, the kind of person you could take home to your _father_ , the kind of person who definitely, absolutely, without any shadow of a doubt, did not deserve _this_.

“ _Pichit!_ ” he cried from the back of the mechanical bull. “I don’t think—hold in— _dinner_ —”

Pichit whooped and hollered from outside the fake pen, his camera phone flashing nonstop as he took picture after picture of his friend bucking and rolling and losing his shrimp all over the bull. Other patrons from the club cheered and screamed. Some of them looked away, blanching at the sight of this poor kid covered in his sweat and supper. Some jeered and called for him to get off already so they could have a try, but the guy running the bull kept pushing them back, saying that as long as a person stayed on the bull, _they_ _stayed on the bull_.

“You’re doing great, Yuuri!” Pichit screamed over the crowd, laughing and whooping some more. He took a selfie with Yuuri behind him on the bull, his terrified face green with sick and his glasses askew.

Eventually, of course, all good things end. The mechanical bull shuddered one last heave of its metal shoulders, the gears whining and straining, never having gone this long, and as if it just wanted to be free of its burden so it could crawl away and at last slip into the liberating embrace of death, it chucked Yuuri off its back and into the air. He flew six feet up, then came crashing down on the foam mat with a _thud!_

The crowd exploded. A new record had been set; the next round for everyone in the club was free.

Yuuri was carried over people’s heads, his own head still reeling, his stomach pitching and queasy from the bull, until he was deposited in front of the bar, unknown hands clapping him on the back, cheers and whistles ringing through the club.

Pichit appeared beside him, snapping another selfie. “Yuuri!” he screamed into his friend’s ear. The music was loud, the people were loud, and Yuuri’s head was loud—rushing and bucking, still back on the bull. He gave Pichit a wobbly smile, and he grabbed his shoulder to lean on.

“Pichit,” he said in the quietest shout he could manage. “I think I lost something.”

“I’ll say!” Pichit screamed back, jumping up and down in time with the music. He whooped and pumped his fist into the air like the rest of the crowd. “Those shrimp from the banquet are _all over_ that woman’s purse!” He laughed. “You shouldn’t have eaten that many!”

“You shouldn’t have made me ride the bull,” Yuuri groaned, but it fell on deaf ears. Pichit was busy trying to catch some guy’s attention from across the dance floor. Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“Yuuri,” Pichit said, grabbing Yuuri’s arm. His eyes never left the man across the club, who was making suggestive glances their way. “I’m going to go dance. Get a drink! Maybe something with tonic to settle your stomach!”

And then he was gone, vanishing into the tangled mosh-pit. Yuuri saw the other guy leap forward, disappearing into the middle of the dance floor. Yuuri rolled his eyes again, and with a sigh, turned to the bar.

“Well, hello there, cutie.”

Yuuri froze. Behind the bar, leaning forward on one elbow with his silver hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dimpling in a breathtakingly beautiful smile, was the world-famous five-time gold-winning champion, most-desired-man-alive, figure skating legend— _Viktor Nikiforov_.

Yuuri screamed and dove beneath a bar stool.

The people around him laughed and dragged him back up to sit on the stool, his earlier fame from conquering the bull still burning bright in their grateful eyes. They were drinking free for one more round because of him, after all. Some guys sat him down on the stool while a woman brushed his rumpled hair into shape and straightened his crooked tie and glasses. Someone ordered champagne for him. It was shoved in his hand, and everyone at the bar raised their glasses to him and cheered.

Yuuri’s neck felt hot, and his cheeks were flushed. He didn’t see Viktor anymore. What was Viktor doing here, behind the bar? Shouldn’t he be at the championship banquet with all the other winners? All the people who’d actually performed well? What was Viktor doing in a place like this? With a loser like Yuuri?

Yuuri looked into his champagne. His own defeated eyes stared back at him in the golden liquid.

He downed the glass like water.

Everyone at the bar roared with laughter and approval, and more champagne was ordered, enough for everyone. The bartenders popped bottles, placed glasses, poured gold into the flowing mouths of a seething crowd. Glass after golden glass ended up in Yuuri’s hand, and he emptied them all, his anxiety slowly slipping away into smooth bliss. His stomach didn’t feel queasy anymore, just bubbly, and his chest felt light. It felt good to drown his disappointing night on the ice under rivers of golden champagne, with total strangers around him, arm-in-arm, screaming off key with every song.

And then the rest of the night was a blur.

Several more glasses of champagne in, Yuuri’s tie had disappeared, his glasses were on some girl’s head, and his shirt was untucked from some guy’s hands on his back before another man had swept him away, laughing and dancing with him. His smile made his cheeks dimple, and Yuuri remembered smiling back into those bright eyes under silver hair.

Several more drinks, and Yuuri had lost the man, had danced with almost everyone in the club. He remembered challenging some guys to a dance-off, and somehow winning. He remembered the floor beneath him, firm and supportive as he spun and kicked his legs in wild moves and danced like he’d never dance again.

Some more drinks, and Yuuri was on a stage with a pole.

His clothes were gone at this point. (He had no idea where they were.) He was only in his underwear. Someone else’s tie was wrapped around his head. He remembered seeing Pichit in the crowd clinging to a guy’s arm, pointing up at Yuuri and screaming, grinning ear to ear. Yuuri sent a quick, drunk prayer of thanks to the gods for the ice skating practice that had given him superior flexibility and core strength, and then he mounted the pole.

He remembered the club shaking with the noise the crowd made.

He remembered the feel of the pole, strong and cool and smooth under his hands and legs, his body wrapping around it like a snake charming its prey, and the people on the dance floor ate it up, screaming and cheering and hollering like their lungs went on forever.

He remembered the same silver-haired man with the beautiful smile that dimpled his cheeks joining him on the stage. He remembered the crowd going absolutely wild when the man stripped down to his own underwear and began circling Yuuri, grinning a huge smile that reached his bright eyes. He remembered suddenly realizing it was Viktor. It had been Viktor all along.

Something fierce and hungry arose in Yuuri, some desire to reach out to Viktor and show him everything he’d wanted to show him on the ice. Everything he’d wanted to prove—to Viktor, to his family, to the world…to himself. Everything he loved about skating: his passion for the dance, his love of the form, the great clanging of his heart when he stepped out onto the rink and left everything there, naked and vulnerable for the world to see. Could Viktor hear his heart now, beating like a mighty drum in his chest as they stepped towards each other, the pole slick under Yuuri’s lingering fingers, the stage bright as Viktor’s eyes, the crowd’s cheering sounding millions of miles away, and for them there was only this, the moment they reached out with their hands and touched.

They danced like two tigers clashing, bold and ferocious, all inhibition thrown out, leaving nothing but their wild instinct to _move_ —move closer, touch, flow like liquid around each other, at one moment highlighting the elegant curve of Viktor’s body, the next highlighting the solid strength of Yuuri’s core. Viktor lifted Yuuri and then dipped him, Yuuri bent and spun around Viktor, and always they touched. A hand on the back, an elbow looped around a neck, a leg hooked around a leg. They used the pole at first, but then it seemed to disappear as they focused only on each other, their dance becoming something sensual and personal. Yuuri moved to the cheering and chanting of the crowd, the line of his back flush with Viktor’s body, his arms held up over his head and looped around Viktor’s neck. Viktor leaned forward, his own arms wrapped around Yuuri’s sides, hands placed gently on those hips that swayed like the music had been _born_ from them.

People screamed and took pictures. Women swooned. Men took off their own shirts and started making out with each other. Somewhere, Pichit was recording everything.

Inhibitions didn’t exist for Katsuki Yuuri that night, sixteen glasses of champagne later. He laughed and sang. He danced like he’d been born to be beautiful, and he was. He glowed. People laughed at him, people envied him, people desired him, people thought he looked ridiculous, but no one could take their eyes off him. No one could deny it, he was having the most fun of anyone here. He was here to live.

“ _Viktor!_ ” he cried at one point, swinging the new bottle of champagne someone had given him. “Viktor, if I— _hiccup_ —ride the— _hicc_ —bull— _up_ —again, you have to come be my coach! _Hiccup!_ ”

He wiggled his ass and smiled up at Viktor. Neither one of them had been able to stop smiling all night. They were both flushed and sweating, but as Viktor looked down at Yuuri and Yuuri looked up at him, neither thought the other had ever looked more beautiful.

“ _Viktorrr_ ,” Yuuri sang again, his words slurred but happy. “Be my coach!”

No one in the club could hear him but Viktor. And no one in the club could hear Viktor as, in that moment, he felt his heart squeeze in a way it hadn’t in so long, so long he thought it couldn’t move that way any more. But here was Yuuri, hanging off his shoulders, looking up at him with the most dazzling, loving eyes Viktor had ever seen. And no one could hear Viktor as a small, delighted gasp escaped him in one amazed, overjoyed breath.

 

 

∫ ∫ ∫

 

Katsuki Yuuri was a nice person.

He was nice to his friends even when they took pictures of him when he was drunk. He didn’t assault anyone in his underwear and rub his body all over people he barely knew while asking them to come to his family’s hot springs. He didn’t pole dance. Katsuki Yuuri was a nice person.

Last night, Viktor Nikiforov found out that was a dirty, dirty lie.

Viktor sat up in the bed of his hotel room, gazing down at Yuuri’s face. Yuuri was snoring quietly, his legs and arms flung everywhere, the sheets tangled in his limbs. Viktor couldn’t help another smile coming to his lips. He hadn’t been able to stop all night, and even now in the daylight, when the alcohol had worn off, he was still smiling at this boy in his bed. His smile widened as a thought came to him: he’d have to thank his friend Ivan for letting him work the bar at his club last night. Those championship banquets could get so stuffy, but Viktor had honestly never imagined having this much fun by going to an underground club. Who’d have guessed another skater would be there! And of all skaters, it was Katsuki Yuuri.

He looked down at Yuuri again, appreciating the beauty even in how he slept. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the fringe of Yuuri’s hair that fell over his forehead. Yuuri sniffed in his sleep, but otherwise remained still.

Viktor slipped off the bed as silently as he could and went into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water on his face, then let the droplets drip from his skin back into the basin. He sighed.

The door to the bathroom burst open, and Yuuri stumbled in, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Viktor spun around, another smile already on his lips, when he saw the shocked look on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri stood there for a second, two seconds, three…and then he screamed.

He backpedaled out of the bathroom and ran into a wall, and Viktor followed at once. “Wait, Yuuri!” Yuuri yelped and mumbled something that sounded like ‘I’m sorry for twerking on you last night,’ and then he scrambled to the bed. “Yuuri,” Viktor tried again. “Hold on, nothing happened last night. Wait—listen!”

Yuuri shook his head, his face bright red. He couldn’t look up at Viktor as he gathered his clothes and shoved his glasses onto his face. He tripped over a shoe as he bolted to the door, flinging another stuttering apology over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Viktor sank onto the bed, staring at the door. He was amused, at least. He knew what it was like to wake up in someone else’s room and not understand how he got there. He sighed, but he was still smiling.

He reached into his desk and pulled his cell phone from the drawer. He punched the one number he had on speed dial. After only one ring, it picked up.

“Yakov,” Viktor said, turning to look out his window to the east, into the rising sun. “I’m going to Japan.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> sagechan.tumblr.com


End file.
